Dancing in the Dark

by Maureen Lee

  “George sent me.”

  “Really!” Mum sounded so impressed that I hated myself even more. “He must think highly of you, sending you all the way to Birmingham.”

  To please her, I took particular pains with my appearance. I wore a cherry red suit with a black Tshirt underneath. To assuage my guilt, and make amends for lying, I stopped on the way to Kirkby and bought a bunch of chrysanthemums and a box of Terry’s All Gold.

  “You shouldn’t have, luv,” Mum protested, though she looked gratifyingly pleased.

  When we sat down to lunch, Flo’s flat immediately became the main topic of conversation.

  “I thought you’d have it well sorted by now,” Mum remarked, when I claimed there were still loads of things to do.

  “I only have Sundays free, don’t I?” I said defensively.

  “You wouldn’t believe the amount of stuff Flo had. It’s taking ages.”

  “Your gran keeps asking about it. I said you’d call in and see her on your way home.”

  I groaned. “Oh, Mum, you didn’t!”

  “She is your gran, luv. She’s desperate for a little keepsake, something to remind her of Flo. A piece of jewellery would be nice.”

  Flo mightn’t be too pleased at the idea of anything of hers going to someone she’d specifically not wanted at her funeral. As for jewellery, I hadn’t come across any so far. Everything’s becoming incredibly complicated, I thought worriedly.

  Things became even more complicated when Declan asked, “How’s James?”

  “He’s fine,” I said automatically, only then realising it was a whole week since I’d seen him, and he hadn’t called once. Perhaps he’d decided being chucked out was the last straw. I dismissed him from my mind—there was already enough to think about—and said to Declan, “Have you done anything about college?”

  My father choked on his steak and kidney pudding.

  “College? Him? You must be joking.”

  “I think it’s a very good idea,” Colin said quietly. “If he took an engineering course, he could come and work for me. I could do with another pair of hands.”

  “He’d prefer something different, wouldn’t you, Declan?” I was determined to air the matter of Declan’s future because I had a feeling he would never have the courage to do it himself. “Something artistic” I thought it wise not to mention fashion design or my father might choke to death before our very eyes.

  My mother regarded him warily. “It wouldn’t hurt, would it, Norman, for our Declan to go to college? After all, Millicent went to night school and look where it got her.”

  While Trudy and Colin did the dishes, I wandered down to the bottom of the garden with Scotty. The little dog jumped up and down like a yo-yo in front of me. I eased myself through the gap in the hedge that separated the main garden from the compost heap, and sat down on an enormous hump of hard soil, cuddling Scotty. This was the only place we had been allowed to play when we were little: our father wouldn’t allow us on the lawn. I remembered the day when five-year-old Trudy had broken a window in the greenhouse with a tennis ball.

  She’d been so petrified she was literally shaking with fright and couldn’t stop crying. “He’ll kill me when he gets home,” she sobbed hysterically.

  Then I’d had the brilliant idea of pretending someone from the houses behind had done it. We exchanged the ball, which our father would have recognised, for a stone, and claimed ignorance when the broken pane was discovered.

  It was one of the few crimes we ever got away with.

  “Penny for them!” Trudy murmured, as she squeezed through the hedge and sat beside me. Scotty, fast asleep, stirred and licked my knee.

  “I won’t say what I was thinking about. It would only depress you.”

  “It was me smashing that window, I bet. I always remember when I come down here. Even now I break out in a sweat.”

  I put an arm around her shoulder. “How’s things, Sis?”

  Trudy shrugged. “Okay. I’m growing a hair on me chin. See?”

  “You’ve always had that,” I said. “It appeared when you were about fourteen.”

  “Did it? I’ve never noticed before. It must be the glasses.”

  “What glasses?”

  “I need glasses for close work, reading and painting.

  I’ve had them for months. I thought you knew.”

  “No,” I said sadly. “There was a time when we knew every single little thing about each other, but now . . . ”

  In the darkness of our room, when our father was out, we’d whisper our innermost secrets to each other.

  “Sorry, Sis.”

  “Don’t be.” I squeezed Trudy’s shoulder. “I’m not complaining. There’s all sorts of stuff you don’t know about me.”

  “Such as?”

  “That would be telling.” I grinned enigmatically.

  Trudy pulled a face. “Actually, there’s things I can’t even talk about with Colin.”

  “Would you like to talk about them now?”

  “No, Sis. It would take much too long.”

  I watched a bee, well past its prime, buzz weakly on a dandelion. I was conscious of feeling far less fraught than I usually did on these occasions. Today hadn’t been nearly as bad as other Sundays. Instead of constant reminders of the way things used to be, I was preoccupied with how things were now.

  Mum appeared in the gap in the hedge, looking flustered, though she rarely looked anything else.

  “You’ll get your lovely clothes all dirty sitting on that soil.” She pushed her bulky frame through the sharp twigs and, ignoring her own advice, plopped down heavily beside us. Immediately Scotty jumped off my knee and on to hers. “I wanted to talk to you both about Alison.” She began to pull at a weed. “I found Oxford on the atlas,” she said hesitantly. “It’s almost as far as London.

  I was scared enough driving to Skem so I’ll never make it that far in the car—that’s if your dad would let me have it and I couldn’t afford to go every week by train.”

  “I’ll pay your fare, Mum,” I offered at the same time as Trudy said, “Colin and me will take you.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to be dependent on other people. Alison’s me daughter. I don’t love her any better than I do you and our Declan, but she needs me more than you lot ever will.”

  It seemed to me that Alison didn’t need anyone in particular, but perhaps the faithful figure of her mother appearing every Sunday provided a sense of security, a vague feeling that she was special in at least one person’s eyes. On the other hand, perhaps the need was the other way round, and it was Mum who’d miss Alison. One day, Declan was bound to leave home and Alison, detached and indifferent, would be the only one of her children left. But, somewhat cruelly, fate had decreed she’d be miles away in Oxford.

  “I want her to stay with the St Osyth Trust,” Mum was saying. “They know and understand her. I’d have her home like a shot, but that’s out the question with your dad. He’s ashamed of her, for one thing, and he’s no patience with her funny little ways. So I’ve decided to move to Oxford.”

  “What!” Trudy and I cried together. It was the last thing we’d expected to hear.

  “Shush!” She glanced nervously through the hedge, but the garden was empty. Her husband was inside playing with his beloved grandchildren, and Colin was on guard.

  “You mean you’d actually leave him?” I gasped. Why hadn’t she thought of this years ago when we were all being beaten regularly for the least little thing, and sometimes for nothing at all?

  Mum said huskily, “I should have left him a long time ago, I know, but it never crossed me mind. I always thought that if I became a better wife he’d stop hitting us, but the harder I tried, the worse he got. In the end, perhaps I was punch-drunk or something, but it all seemed quite normal.” Her voice broke. Scotty opened his eyes and looked at her curiously. “I could never imagine things being any other way. I’m sorry, but at least I got Alison out the road, d
idn’t I?”

  “Don’t rake over the past, Mum,” Trudy said softly.

  “About Oxford, I don’t know what to say.”

  “Nor me,” I said, and then, meaning it with all my heart, “I’ll miss you, Mum.”

  She dug me in the ribs with her elbow. “Don’t talk daft, Millicent. I only see you once a month as it is, and you’re never there when I phone. I talk to that silly machine more than I do you.”

  “I’d miss your messages,” I cried. “Honest, Mum, I really would.” Suddenly I felt that there would be a dreadful hole in my life.

  “I could still ring and leave messages.” She chuckled.

  “Yes, but it wouldn’t be the same if you weren’t around.”

  Trudy was frowning, as if she, too, was trying to contemplate a future that had so unexpectedly changed.

  “Melanie and Jake would be lost without their gran,” she said, close to tears.

  “They’ll still have their grandad,” Mum said comfortably.

  Behind her back, Trudy grimaced at the idea that she’d still bring her children to Kirkby if Mum wasn’t there.

  “I’ll get meself a full-time job,” Mum was saying, “and look for a bedsit close to the home so’s I can see Alison every day.”

  “It’s a big step, Mum,” Trudy said. “Getting a job won’t be easy at your age, and bedsits might cost the earth in Oxford.”

  “Then I’ll go on social security or whatever it’s called these days,” Mum said serenely. “I’ve never claimed a penny in me life, yet I’ve always paid me stamps.” She beamed at us. “I feel better now I’ve talked to you two.

  Not a word about this to your dad, mind.”

  Trudy shuddered. “I wouldn’t like to be in your shoes when you tell him. Would you like me and Colin to be here, give you moral support, like?”

  “I don’t need moral support, luv. I’ll tell him to his face, and if he doesn’t like it, he can lump it. Anyroad, it’s months off yet”

  “Grandma,” Melanie piped, from the other side of the hedge.

  “I’m here, sweetheart.” Mum scrambled to her feet, dislodging an indignant Scotty.

  “Grandad said he wants a cup of tea.”

  “Tell Grandad to make his own tea,” Trudy said curtly.

  “No, no, don’t say that, Melanie, whatever you do.” A stubby branch caught her cheek, drawing blood, as she frantically pushed her way back through the hedge.

  Trudy glanced at me meaningfully. “I wonder if she’ll do it?”

  I remembered the photo of Flo taken in Blackpool, the still pretty face, the lovely smile, when Gran opened the door. Age hadn’t been as kind to Martha Colquitt as it had to her sister. I could never remember her smiling much, or looking anything but old. Her face was creased into a permanent scowl, and behind the severe, black-framed spectacles with their thick lenses, her eyes were unfriendly, disapproving. Her best feature was her hair, thick and silvery, which she kept in neat waves under a fine, almost invisible net.

  “Oh, it’s you,” she said sourly. “Come in. I might as well not have grandchildren, I never see them.” I followed her into the spotlessly clean, over-furnished room, which stank of a mixture of cigarettes, disinfectant and the vile-smelling ointment she rubbed on her rheumatic shoulder.

  “Well, I’m here now,” I said brightly. I would have come more often, or so I told myself, if the welcome was ever warm, but even my kindhearted mother found visiting Gran an ordeal, fetching her weekly shopping out of a sense of duty.

  The television beside the fireplace was on without the sound. Gran turned it off. “Nothing on nowadays but rubbish.”

  I sat down in an overstuffed armchair. “Mum said to remind you there’s an old film on later that you might like. It’s a musical with Beryl Grable.”

  “Betty Grable,” Gran corrected irritably. Her faculties were sharper than those of most people half her age, her memory for names and faces prodigious. “I might watch it, I’ll see. It depends on how long you stay. Do you want a cup of tea?”

  “Yes, please,” I said politely.

  Gran disappeared into the kitchen and I went over to the window. I’d lived in this flat until I was three, and the view from the fifth floor was one of the few things I could remember clearly. It couldn’t be called magnificent: a shopping precinct, the Protestant church, miles and miles of redbrick houses, with a glimpse of flat fields in the far distance, a few trees, but it seemed to change from day to day. The sky was never the same, and I always seemed to glimpse a tree or a building I hadn’t noticed before. It was certainly better than no view at all, but Gran felt the need to block it out with thick lace curtains, although no one could see inside except from a passing helicopter.

  The curtains had been drawn back a few inches, as if Gran had been looking out, which, apart from going to Mass on Sundays, was all she had to do: she looked out of the window, watched television and smoked—an ashtray on the sill was full of butts. Each day must seem endless.

  I adjusted the curtain and returned to my seat. God, it was depressing. The room seemed much darker than Flo’s basement.

  “I can’t remember if you take sugar.” Gran came in with tea in two fine china cups, a cigarette poking from her mouth. Because she’d been to Mass that morning she wore a neat brown woollen blouse and skirt, though Mum reported that she usually spent the day in her dressing-gown. She had no friends, no one called, so what was the point in getting dressed?

  “I don’t, thanks.”

  “Your mam forgot to get me favourite fig biscuits. All I’ve got is digestives.” Poor Mum could never get the shopping right.

  “I don’t want a biscuit, thanks all the same.” I sipped the tea, doing my best to avoid the ash floating on the top.

  The wall above the sideboard was full of photographs in identical cheap plastic frames: Grandad Colquitt, long dead, a genial-looking man with erratic facial hair, various weddings, including mine and Trudy’s, lots of photos of the Cameron kids taken at school—the happy faces, grinning widely, telling a terrible lie.

  “There’s a photo in Flo’s of my father as a baby with his mother—my other grandma,” I said. At home his parents were rarely mentioned. All I knew was that his father had been a sailor, and his mother had died when he was twenty.

  “Is that so? Your other gran, Elsa, used to be me best friend.” The thin yellow lips trembled slightly. “What’s it like in Flo’s place?”

  “Nice.” I smiled. “I found gas bills the other day going back to nineteen forty-one.” At least this showed I’d been making an effort to get things done.

  “It was nineteen forty when she moved in,” Gran said.

  “November.” Her voice was surprisingly soft, considering she was talking about her lifelong enemy. “Just before Christmas. Mam didn’t find out till later that Mrs Fritz had gone to Ireland, leaving her in that big house all by herself.”

  The name seemed familiar. “Fritz?”

  “Mr Fritz owned the laundry where she worked. He was sent to an internment camp during the war.”

  “There’s a snap of Flo outside the laundry.” In a fit of generosity, I said, “Would you like me to take you?” Flo might turn in her grave if she knew, but Gran looked so wretched.

  “To the laundry!” The crumpled jaw fell open. “They knocked it down years ago, girl.”

  “I meant Flo’s. I’m on my way there now to try to get a few more things done,” I said virtuously. “I’ll bring you home in the car.”

  Gran shook her head adamantly. “Toxteth’s the last place on earth I’d go. A man was murdered there only last week, stabbed to death right on the pavement. Even the town centre isn’t safe any more. A woman at church had her gold chain snatched from round her neck when she was walking through St John’s precinct. She almost had a heart attack.” She looked at me with frightened eyes. “It’s a terrible world nowadays, Millicent.”

  “Flo lived in Toxteth most of her life without coming to any harm.” I vaguely remember
ed my father saying the same thing a few weeks ago. “And Bel lives not far away.

  She comes and goes all the time.”

  “Bel?”

  “Flo’s friend.”

  “I know who Bel is,” Gran said bitterly. “I met her once when she was young. So, even she didn’t bother to tell me when our Flo died!”

  “Maybe she didn’t know your address.”

  “There aren’t many Mrs M. Colquitts in the Liverpool phone book. And someone knew where to contact me, didn’t they? But only when it was too late.”

  “I’m sorry, Gran,” I said awkwardly. I put the cup and saucer down; the dregs were grey with ash. “I’d better be going. Don’t forget to watch that film.”

  “I wish you hadn’t come,” Gran said tonelessly. She fumbled in the packet for another cigarette. “You’ve raked up things I’d considered long forgotten.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said again. I’d only come because I’d been told she wanted to see me.

  “I expect you can see yourself out.”

  “Of course. ‘Bye, Gran.’

  There was no answer. I closed the door and flew down the stone staircase where the walls were scrawled with graffiti. As I drove towards Toxteth, it was difficult to rid myself of the memory of the stiff, unhappy woman smoking her endless cigarettes.

  I parked in William Square, and as I walked back towards Flo’s, Bel and Charmian must have seen me arrive for they were standing by the basement stairs.

  Charmian waved a bottle of wine, and my heart lifted.

  “Hi!” I called, beginning to hurry. Gran was forgotten and I had the strangest feeling, as if I was Flo, coming home to my friends.

  It would seem that the banging wasn’t part of a dream.

  Beside me Tom O’Mara was dead to the world. I almost fell out of bed, pulled on Flo’s dressing-gown and hurried towards the door before whoever was there demolished it. The noise was even louder in the living room. Any minute now Charmian or Herbie might appear, wanting to know what was going on.

  “Who’s there?” I shouted crossly. It must be a drunk who’d come to the wrong house. I looked blearily at my watch—ten past two—and wondered if I should have woken Tom.

  The banging stopped. “It’s James. Let me in.”